Black Memories
by A Sirius Desire
Summary: It began October 31st, 1981, the twelve years that would lead him to the darkness he could never escape. Here, lies the omitted tale of Sirius Black. CAUTION!: Some Deathly Hallows Content! Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

_October 31__st__ 1981_

The ocean was large, ominous, and thrashing, pulled by the very moon that cursed his best friend…Well, he used to be his best friend. They were all four in very different places now, James was dead, Remus was trying to survive, and Peter was a traitor, and he, Sirius Black was the only one that knew. He recalled how the street looked with the dust clearing from the explosion as twelve dead muggles lay at his feet: the perfect framing. He honestly had to applaud Peter for that tidbit, and very bitterly so… _How dare he_?

He could hear the waves braking against the walls of Azkaban as he sat in his darkened cell, hands over his face, trying to gather everything together in his mind that just kept slipping away as warm tears oozed through his fingers. James and Lily were dead and Remus… Peter was such a bastard. And Sirius Black swore, right then, that he was going to kill him if it was the last thing he would ever do, but considering where he was, he didn't seem to have very many options.

This was going to have to be something he thought out very carefully.

The dementors liked his tears, it seemed. Their rattling breaths seeming to be the only sounds he would hear for the next hour until they moved to the outside of an adjacent cell to feed off of another for a while. He shivered, his thin clothes making him think that perhaps he would be warmer without them, the cold clinging to the fabric that never seemed to warm against his body.

His thoughts then drifted to Harry. He smiled, remembering Lily's recount of the little boy on his first broomstick ride. It was such a wonderful day; she'd said Harry was a natural, just like James. He was so proud to be Harry's godfather. A sudden epiphany dawned on him then… Harry had no one, no one except those vile Dursley's on Lily's side. But that was all he knew.

He remembered the letter he'd gotten from Lily only a few weeks before:

_Dear Padfoot, _

_Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I'm enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet above the ground but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James thought it was so funny, says he's going to be a great Quidditch player, but we had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don't take our eyes off him when he gets going._

_We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who has always been so sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the Order's got to come first, and Harry's not old enough to know it's his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tried not to show it but I can tell – also, Dumbledore's still got his invisibility cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard._

_Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore, I'm not sure he'd be pleased if he knew! I don't know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore could ever have been friends with Gellert Grindelwald. I think her mind's going, personally! _

_Lots of love,_

_Lily_

The thoughts of the letter caused him to look out the window to the pale sliver of moon that hung in the sky, clouds ghosting across its pale face. He had half a mind that there weren't storm clouds over Azkaban at all, but just dementors, soaring through the sky.

The ghost of a smile flitted across his features as he saw little flecks of multi-colored lights in the sky: fireworks. The Dark Lord had fallen once again, and would hopefully never return, and all throughout the wizarding world they were toasting _The Boy Who Lived_. Sirius realized that his tears had begun to fade, long past dry, wishing with every part of him that he could join in on the celebrations… Wishing he honestly had it in him. Wasn't anyone else in the world mourning the Potter's like he was? Maybe everyone else was happy in their snug little homes now that the criminal was apprehended. All was well. He could see the title in his mind, _Best Man, Turned Killer_.

His hair fell into his eyes with that same casual elegance as it always had, but he didn't pay it any mind now. All the things he had done when he was young, he realized, were now quite beyond stupid. He and James were popular in school they were _The Marauders_ illegal animagi who roamed the grounds of Hogwarts every full moon with their best friend Remus who just so happened to be a werewolf.

"Oh Remus, I'm sorry." He whispered into the darkness, the beams of the small sliver of moon seeming to cut through it, but the moment he had with himself didn't last long as another dementor glided past his cell again and stopped, the shadowed, faceless being watching him from where he stood on the other side of those cold iron bars.

The night seemed to drag on for an eternity as sleep never came to him until sunrise, a small tin pan with a piece of bread and a small cup of water were magiced through the bars, onto the floor for him to take. He hurried before the rats got to his bread, wolfing it down. That was his first mistake, he learned very quickly that those slices of bread and glasses of water were a once-a-day luxury, and he was given nothing more, nothing less. With his growling stomach somewhat sated, the water causing the bread to spread within his stomach, making him feel fuller than he really was, he lied down on his stiff cot, no blankets, no pillows as he curled up in a ball and looked to the opposite wall, his back to the dementors that were slowly but surely working away at him, his hopes seeming to be siphoned away by those greedy gaping mouths, leaving him empty and frozen inside.

But somewhere deep within, Sirius knew that he would be able to find hope despite the way these ruthless beings fed on every single emotion, especially sadness. Once a few days passed, he realized that his mourning for Lily and James was one that was short lived as he fell in step with the rest of the inmates doing daily chores. They scrubbed the floors with sponges and buckets, the muggle way. They did laundry, also the muggle way, by hand in the toilets with soap and other things. Many of the Dark Lord's followers hated this sort of thing, but Sirius knew what he had to do, and didn't complain. That's what he figured was the best way to go, say nothing do nothing, and he would get by unscathed.

He'd also been getting _Daily Prophet's_ in the mornings, reading the Potter's obituary with dry eyes, which felt genuinely strange as he looked at the moving photograph that had been taken at their wedding, either of his arms around Lily and James, smiling handsomely to the camera as Lily smiled shyly and James waved.

He was looking for some sort of lead, something that would show him that Pettigrew really had framed him, but day after day he waited, and day after day, it never came. The news he was looking for wouldn't come to him for the next twelve years, but somehow, he still had a small hope, (at least he thought it was), as he looked out that small barred window one night. But as he fell asleep, he clutched the portrait of him and his best friends to his chest as though that singular piece of paper was his entire heart.


	2. Chapter 2

_November 3__rd__ 1981_

Sirius landed on his bed, hard, as he jolted into wakefulness. It was as though his soul had been drifting and was thrust back into his body with a forceful hand. He thought he'd read about it somewhere; astral projection, he thought it might've been called, but he shook this thought away while the dementors made their morning rounds.

He heard his stomach rumble from the lack of food, grey eyes slipping closed. _Pretend it's all a bad dream_ He told himself. _Pretend you're on your own again, and when you open your eyes, you'll be at James and Lily's playing with Harry_. He opened his eyes, a smile on his face which quickly fell when his thoughts deceived him for the thousandth time in the past few days; the damp eerie walls staring back at him as though they had a thousand boring eyes that could see into his very soul, his every thought and dream.

As the weeks drug on, he slowly came to realize that it was going to take quite an amount of strength to survive this place, he felt worthless, but the hope of maybe someday starting a life with Harry got him through, until the dementors took that away too.

He lifted his head when he heard the clanking of metal as his cell was opened by a lithe skeletal hand. He shuddered, the cold shackles that were magiced onto his wrists and ankles causing him to rise, walking out his cell door to fall in line with the rest of the inmates who were also shackled, and today he just so happened to be placed beside a very familiar face, one he wished he didn't recognize as her heavy lidded eyes slowly drug along his frame, a maniacal sort of grin twisting her face.

"Sirius Black!" She crowed. "My dear cousin, you've finally done your mother proud!"

"Hardly," Sirius replied, his voice slightly rough from misuse. "I'd off myself before I sought that woman's approval."

Bellatrix cackled noting Sirius's demeanor, it was like gold to her, she could finally, after all these years, get under his skin as much as she pleased and he couldn't escape her.

"Auntie sent me an owl yesterday," She said in a rather acidic sort of sing-song voice. "She told me she would've paid to see James and Lily's faces right before the Dark Lord took their lives. Their son deserves to be tortured, just like the Longbottom's, forced to fall to his knees before him, and then…"

"STOP IT!" He roared, clenching his eyes shut, grinding his teeth. "Bella, I swear, if I weren't in these shackles…" He hissed.

"Oh, poor ickle Sirius!" She mocked in a baby-ish voice. "Does he need his mommy? Oh wait, she _disowned you_ isn't that right?"

"Shut-your-mouth…"

"Oh I most certainly will, right when you tell me how it felt to be framed, and outwitted by one of your best friends. It must've killed you to know someone you trusted with your whole heart betrayed you…"

Sirius growled, the rest of the inmates craning their heads towards the two of them in interest.

"Oh yes, I know, I know everything. Auntie is always on top of things and most definitely because her son single handedly murdered twelve muggles. She was so pleased!"

Just then, the magical bond that was controlling their movements lifted, and Sirius jumped onto her, causing them both to crash to the floor, the other inmates cheering, egging them on.

Sirius used the piece of chain separating his shackles, holding and pressing it against her throat, grinning while he heard her choke, and her eyes finding his in _desperation_?

"How does it feel, Bella?" He hissed, continuing to press the chain against her throat. "HOW DOES IT FEEL!?"

She didn't reply, her eyes seeming to dart this way and that, squirming beneath Sirius's frame, the movements causing him to press down harder, both his bodily weight and the chain. He could hear her wheezing breaths as she gasped desperately for air.

Sirius was suddenly pulled off of her by a skeletal hand, its grip incredibly strong as he struggled, hearing Bellatrix gasping and choking on the air that finally flooded into her lungs.

"I'LL KILL YOU SIRIUS BLACK!" She screamed, her shrill voice filling the wing of the prison. "I"LL KILL YOU!"

He was then thrust back into his cell, cracking his head on the stone wall, his vision swimming before him, the gliding frame of the dementor twisting in and out of focus as though a hand was twisting and blurring everything around him. He quickly came around, refusing to let his consciousness trickle away with the blood that began soaking into his long shaggy black tresses. With one last shaky breath he slumped downward, chin to his chest as he felt the warm blood ooze down the nape of his neck onto his shirt, grey eyes slipping closed, the last thing he heard were the soul rattling breaths of the wraithlike guards, before falling into the black oblivion.


End file.
